


How the Weather Brought Harry and Draco Together

by orphan_account



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Getting Together, M/M, Magical Storms, Malfoy Manor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-05
Updated: 2015-05-05
Packaged: 2018-03-25 15:13:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3815131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A magical storm hits Britain and Harry doesn't believe it. Ignoring protests, he uses the Floo to get home, only to wind up in Malfoy Manor. However, he definitely won't regret the outcome.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How the Weather Brought Harry and Draco Together

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, this is a repost!

How the Weather Brought Harry and Draco Together

It was a load of crap. Scrunching up the _Daily Prophet_ into a huge ball, Harry lobbed it against the wall, where it bounced into the bin just beneath it. A _magical storm_? Highly unlikely. No one had ever mentioned it to Harry before, and the _Prophet_ was renown for making up lies to scare the public. He rolled his eyes and snorted. He'd fling himself off a cliff before he believed anything the _Prophet_ said any more.

Standing up from his desk, Harry yawned and stretched. It had been a long day and he was looking forward to going home and kicking his feet up for a while. He marched out of his office, making a beeline for one of the Ministry's fireplaces to take the Floo, for he had no interest in Apparating.

“Oh, Mr. Potter!” squeaked a tiny wizard in fluorescent green robes, running over to Harry as he popped his sweaty forehead with a handkerchief. “Mr. Potter! It's u-unwise to take the Floo with this magical storm about, you know?” He chuckled nervously, bouncing on the balls of his feet, indicating the sky with a little flick of his hand as if Harry could see through the cement ceiling. “It'll make transport to and from the Ministry a bit difficult, to be sure, but all in the interest of public safety, you know?”

Harry stared at the man incredulously for a moment. “You don't actually believe what the Prophet has written, do you?” he demanded. “All they print is lies and embellishments.”

The man's eyes widened comically. “Oh, no, Mr. Potter –!”

Rolling his eyes, Harry grabbed the Floo powder, threw it into the fireplace and stepped in, calling, “Grimmauld Place!” over the top of the man's horrified cry of, “Mr. Potter, _no_!” In a rush of green flame, Harry disappeared. He sensed immediately that something was wrong.

The average time between leaving the fireplace and arriving at one's destination was about five to seven seconds. Harry liked to count those seconds as they went by, just so that he knew how long it would take to arrive home, and so that he knew if something was wrong. Like now, for instance.

Ten seconds.

Fifteen seconds.

Twenty-five seconds.

One minute later, Harry found himself thrown out onto white marble floors, grunting upon impact. Gingerly, he pushed himself up onto his knees, fixing his glasses, which were askew on his face.

“Ignored the warnings, Potter?”

Harry paused at the sound of that voice, closing his eyes and praying that it wasn't so. Life couldn't be that cruel to Harry, could it? Of all the places …

A pair of black leather shoes, probably shined within an inch of their life, was the first thing that Harry saw as he stared resolutely down at the ground.

“Then again,” said Draco Malfoy, the smirk evident in his tone, “that _was_ always in your nature.”

*

“You won't be able to leave until the storm's passed over,” said Malfoy, minutes later. He leaned against the wall of the drawing room, inspecting his own fingernails with an air of boredom that infuriated Harry. “But if you wish to leave, you could try walking.”

“What about the Knight Bus?” asked Harry, through clenched teeth.

“The bus operates with magic, Potter, and thereby affected also,” said Malfoy. “All forms of transportation are down until further notice. Honestly, I don't understand why you didn't listen to the Prophet in the first place.”

“The Prophet reports nothing but lies.”

“Yes, in the gossip and the recent news section,” said Malfoy slowly, as if speaking to an intellectually stunted child. “What would they gain from lying about something as inane as the _weather_?”

“Bollocks!” swore Harry. He was about ready to hit something, and Malfoy was quickly becoming his number one target, due to his seemingly unending amounts of snark and sarcasm.

“Unless you want to walk back to London, it'd be in your best interest to stay here,” said Malfoy coolly. “Believe me, I'm about as happy about this predicament as you are.”

“But I don't understand!” said Harry loudly. “If there was a storm, wouldn't there be – I don't know, thunder or something? There's been no sign of a storm all day!”

“What are you, a Muggle?” demanded Malfoy incredulously. “Have you actually _been_ outside?”

“No, I –”

“Well if you _had_ gone outside, you would've seen that there is actually a storm out there. Follow me.”

Strutting across the room to the nearest window, Malfoy span around once he'd reached it and pointed over his shoulder. Curiously, Harry followed him.

“What the –”

Outside the window, the most horrific looking storm clouds that Harry had ever seen swirled in the sky, a dark green colour flecked with spots of red and blue. Every so often, forks of lightning would shoot out from those clouds, leaving the air sizzling with raw magic.

“As much as the Daily Prophet lies about gossip, they have no reason to lie about the weather,” said Malfoy. “So, yes. There really is a magical storm, and yes, you cannot Apparate or use the Floo until it passes. Which means that you're stuck here until further notice.”

“And the Muggles can't see this?”

“Since when do Muggles see anything magical?” demanded Malfoy, scoffing. “What a stupid question to ask, Potter, even by your standards. To them, it's just an overcast day with a chance of rain.”

Harry wondered what the Muggles would say if they could see what Harry was seeing.

“Come away from the window now,” said Malfoy, grabbing Harry's arm and dragging him from the window, just as lightning struck the ground not a few hundred metres away with a resounding bang. “The storm is attracted to magic, so in all likelihood we'll get hit.”

“Worried about me, are you?” asked Harry teasingly.

“Hardly,” said Malfoy, scoffing. “But it'll look bad for me if you were to die on my property. The entire wizarding world would have my head!”

“Yeah, and you were worried about me,” said Harry. “I saw the look in your eyes.”

Malfoy rolled his eyes, yet he didn't say anything to dispute that statement, which only made Harry's grin grow wider. Behind his shoulder, another bolt of lightning struck the earth and made it tremble. The flash illuminated the darkened room for only a moment.

“So it's alright if I crash here until the storm's over?” asked Harry, serious once more.

“You don't have much of an option, not unless you want to walk to London from Wiltshire.”

Harry thought about the distance between the two and shuddered. No matter how fit he thought he was, he knew he wasn't fit enough for _that_ journey. Muggle transportation was out because after so many years, he'd all but forgotten how to use them.

Thunder boomed overhead. It seemed so strange that Muggles would not see or hear the raging storm, but Harry had to admit that it wasn't the first time they'd been blind to the going-ons of the magical world, and it definitely would not be the last.

“Would you like a drink?” asked Malfoy. “If you do, you'll have to locate one of the house elves. They've been strictly forbidden to Apparate. The storm even affects _their_ magic. When I tried to summon Spiffy, she ended up in Gloucestershire.”

“How'd she get back?” asked Harry.

“She tried to Apparate back to the Manor several times, ended up in different parts of England. Once she got close enough to Wiltshire, she walked back,” said Malfoy. “She was so drained I ordered her to rest. Her magical energy had been exhausted by half.”

“Strange,” murmured Harry. He cleared his throat and said in his normal voice, “Where's the kitchen?”

“Follow me,” said Malfoy, just as another earth trembling crack of thunder sounded and the room lit up momentarily from a flash of lightning. Harry was glad that he hadn't ended up outside somehow when he'd taken the Floo. It was shaping up to be a storm one wouldn't want to be caught out in.

Rain started to spatter against the windows as Malfoy led Harry down a veritable maze of rooms and corridors. Potraits of very haughty looking people looked down upon them silently, but they exuded judgement so thick that Harry wanted to cower in the corner like a scolded child.

“Ignore them,” said Malfoy, when he caught Harry shying away from a portrait of a very nasty looking old man with beady black eyes.

“Why do they look so … unpleasant?”

“Because according to history, they _were_ unpleasant.”

“I can see where you got it from.”

Malfoy glared at him. “You forget whose house you're in. Keep up with the smart comments and you _will_ be walking back to London in this storm.”

As if on cue, the rain pounded harder against the windows. Harry couldn't see anything through the windows except the grey skies, streaks of rain, and dark blobs that had once been trees but were now distorted from the rain. Definitely unpleasant conditions to walk in.

Harry hastily arranged his expression to look contrite. “Sorry.”

“As well you should be,” said Malfoy haughtily.

 _Now I definitely know where he gets it from,_ thought Harry, amused.

Going through the dining room, there was a small door in the corner that blended in so well with the wall that Harry would've missed it had it not been for Malfoy.

Opening the door, Malfoy just barely leaned inside to shout, “Tinky!”

“Tinky is coming, Master Draco, sir!” came the squeaky reply. Harry heard the sound of running feet before an out of breath house elf wearing a pillowcase for a dress and what looked like old brown shoelaces for a bow on her ear. “What can Tinky do for you, Master Draco, sir?”

“Yes, some refreshments for Mr. Potter,” said Malfoy, gesturing to Harry with a regal sweep of his arm. “Bring it into the drawing room. That'll be all.”

Tinky bowed again. She said, “Yes, Master Draco, sir!” and ran back down to the kitchens. It was quite odd, seeing a house elf run instead of Disapparate.

“Do you really have to talk to them like they're beneath you?”

Malfoy stopped in his tracks, leaned forward and gave Harry a scrutinising look. It unnerved Harry, who took a step back and wondered whether he should slap Malfoy or something.

“What?” he asked, self-conscious. “Is there something on my face?”

“No. I was just wondering whether you ate Granger, because you sounded just like her then.”

Harry pulled a face. “Knock it off. I was only saying that –”

“Yes, yes, I know what you were saying.” The house shook to its foundations as lightning struck the ground outside with an almighty _crack_ , followed by another loud boom of thunder. “Please don't say any more. I get tired of that kind of talk – and Granger does nothing _but_ talk about it.”

Harry thought about arguing further, how house elf rights really were important even though Hermione made it sound as if all of the house elves were being slaughtered, despite the fact that it really wasn't that bad, but he decided not to. He could see that he'd get nowhere with Malfoy.

_Tinky padded into the room carrying a goblet in her hand. She presented it to Harry like it was a precious jewel, bowing so low her nose touched the floor._

“Your drink, Mr. Potter, sir,” she said. “Is Master Draco needing any more? Tinky is very happy to help, sir.”

“No, Tinky, that'll be all,” said Malfoy.

“Thank you,” added Harry.

Tinky gave Harry an odd look and scampered from the room.

“So what is there to do around here?” asked Harry.

“I was reading when you rudely fell out of my fireplace,” said Malfoy. “I'm quite eager to get back to it, so essentially the only thing you can do around here is whatever entertainment you can find on your own.”

Harry gawked at him. “You can't mean to say that you're just going to ignore me until the storm's over? Some host you are, Malfoy!”

“If I knew I was going to play host to someone today, I would've prepared something,” said Malfoy primly, sitting down on an armchair and grabbing a book from the coffee table. He tucked his legs underneath him, opened the book up to where he'd marked his spot with a bookmark and continued, “But I couldn't have expected that you'd be foolish enough to ignore everyone's warnings and use the Floo, nor could I have expected that of all the places you could've ended up, it would be here. Therefore, it's neither my fault or my problem.”

“You're unbelievable!”

“So many people have said,” said Malfoy. “I'm still not going to cure you of your impending boredom.”

For a moment, Harry toyed with the idea of getting back in the Floo and seeing where he ended up next, because anywhere had to be better than here, but he pushed it to the back of his mind. It would be stupid trying to use magic in the storm; there was no telling what could happen to him.

So instead, he crashed on the sofa across the room from the armchair, ignoring Malfoy's glare for being so loud about it. He drank his drink steadily until it was all gone, holding the empty goblet to give his hands something to do. Not long after that, he grew bored.

And when he got bored, he tapped.

“Would you stop doing that?!” shouted Malfoy, suffering through three minutes of Harry tapping his fingernails against the goblet. “I'm trying to read!”

“I'm bored!” yelled Harry, leaping to his feet. Not to be intimidated, Malfoy stood too. “There's nothing to do in this Manor! How can you have a fucking mansion but have nothing to do in it?”

“There's a library!” Malfoy waved a hand in the direction the library was supposed to be in. “Read a book!”

“I don't _want_ to read a book!”

“Why are you acting like such a child?” demanded Malfoy. “What's wrong with reading?”

“I'm not being a child, I just don't feel like reading.” Harry shuffled his feet, bending over to set the goblet down on the coffee table. “And there's nothing wrong with reading.”

“Then why are you so against it?”

“I just said that I don't feel like reading!”

A hush fell between them as they both realised the ridiculousness of their argument. Blinking at each other, they suddenly found themselves bent over double from the force of their laughter.

“That was – the most – _ridiculous_ – fight ever,” said Harry, between desperate pants for air. He dissolved into another mad giggling fit, pressing a hand to his aching stomach.

“Oh – Merlin it – was,” laughed Malfoy.

The rain, which had been falling steadily for a while, came down thunderously hard.

Malfoy flopped down on the armchair, looking completely at ease now. Harry sat down as well. Things began to get awkward, as neither of them said anything for a while.

“Well,” said Malfoy, picking up his book again. He cleared his throat. “I don't know what you can do around here. Explore, perhaps? There's plenty of rooms in the Manor.”

Harry thought about that for a moment. “Okay, then.” Exploring the Manor would give him more knowledge about the Malfoys – that, and he could see whether they were stupid enough to leave any dark artefacts lying around for everyone to see. “I'll do that.”

“Oh, and Potter?” said Malfoy, giving him a wry look. “You won't be finding anything … _evil_ in this Manor. The Malfoys centuries ago learned their lessons and hid away anything and everything they wouldn't want their worst enemies finding. You can try, but you won't find anything.”

There must've been something in Harry's tone of voice that had tipped Malfoy off to his intentions.

 _Damn_ , thought Harry. “Fine.”

Malfoy was smirking in a way that made Harry quiver with anger. Nails biting into the palms of his hands, Harry marched away.

“Enjoy yourself!” Malfoy called after him. “Don't get lost!”

 _What a bloody prat,_ thought Harry. _Makes me so damn mad I could just …_

His train of thought derailed at that, unsure of just what he'd do in the face of Malfoy's infuriating attitude if pushed far enough to blow up.

As he explored, Harry was shocked at just how big the Manor actually was. It was stupid, because from the outside the estate was massive. He'd just never expected the twists and turns of the corridors that never seemed to end, or have a supply of doors that led into at least a thousand bedrooms.

When it came to making his way back to the dining room where Malfoy was, Harry found himself lost. All the corridors looked the same, and he hadn't thought to leave any clue behind that he'd been there. There was no trail for him to follow. His stomach dropped sickeningly, thinking about the possibility that he might be lost in the Manor forever, doomed never to be found again until he was nothing more than a pile of old bones – but he pushed the thought from his mind, rolling his eyes at his own ridiculousness.

Reassuring himself that as big as the house was, it wasn't so big that he'd be lost for however many months it would take to reduce him to nothing more than bones. House elves could always find him, and once the storm was over he'd be able to use magic again to find his way.

With that in mind, he set off down the corridors, up and down staircases until he thought he'd been through every part of the Manor at least three times over – every part of it _except_ for where he wanted to go.

Grumbling under his breath, he rounded yet another corner, and came to a stone grey corridor in which every white door was closed except for one right up the very end. It almost felt like the half-open door was taunting Harry, begging him to go in and see what he could find in there. Never the one to claim he had good impulse control, Harry marched down the corridor to the open door, reassuring himself that he could get back to finding his way back to the sitting room.

Instead of finding a room full of dark artefacts like he'd been expecting, Harry found himself standing in the middle of a bedroom. Malfoy's bedroom. And Malfoy was in it.

“Uh …” Harry didn't know what to say; he gaped stupidly at Malfoy, who sat calmly on the edge of his bed as if he'd expected Harry to come bursting through. “I didn't know this was your room.”

“If you did, then I'd be worried,” said Malfoy. “To the best of my knowledge, you've never been in my bedroom before, have you?”

“The only time I was here was when – well. You know when.”

Malfoy glanced away, clenching his jaw. “Yeah. I know when.”

It would never get any easier talking about the war and what they all went through. Harry held no doubt that even though Malfoy had been on the opposite side during the war, he'd still gone through his fair share of horrors. They had to figure out how to talk without bringing the subject up; it caused nothing but misery for the both of them, bringing up memories they'd worked to suppress.

“Anyway,” said Harry awkwardly. “I thought there'd have been more … green in your bedroom.”

The walls were a deep, calming blue, which almost matched the bedsheets – only those were a few shades lighter, like the ocean under the light of the sun. The curtains of the four poster bed, however, was white, and it drew attention to the colour of the walls behind it.

Malfoy huffed, the corners of his lips twitching. “Just because I'm a Slytherin does _not_ mean that I have to surround myself with the house colours. I happen to like the colour blue a lot more.”

“Yeah, I can see that,” said Harry teasingly, without judgement. “Anyway, why are we in here?”

“I don't need a reason to be in my own bedroom, Potter. But you, on the other hand, have some explaining to do.” Malfoy lifted his head to glare at Harry without heat, his left eyebrow cocked questioningly.

Harry held his hands up defensively. “I told you, I got lost!”

“Mmm-hmm,” said Malfoy. “Sure you did.”

“I did!” It took Harry a second later to realise that Malfoy was only teasing him and not actually serious. He felt his cheeks warm with embarrassment. “Whatever.”

Malfoy smirked at him. “Got you.”

A clap of thunder resounded. It was so loud that Harry almost slapped his hands over his ears to protect them. For a few moments, the floor beneath their feet trembled.

“Is it just me or is the storm getting worse?” he asked.

“Probably getting worse,” said Malfoy, shrugging. “Things usually do get worse before they get better. In the nature of things, and all that other crap.” He waved a careless hand through the air.

Harry's lips twitched in amusement. “Didn't know you were one for philosophy.”

“I'm not. Heard the quote from a little old lady at a robe shop one day, bemoaning the soaring prices of tailor-made robes. Two Galleons for one robe, can you believe it?” Malfoy gave a theatrical gasp of shock, placing a hand upon his chest. “I simply can't. It's _atrocious_! Two Galleons! What is the world coming to?” He shook his head wistfully.

“Did anyone ever tell you how weird and dramatic you are?”

“Heard it several times in the Slytherin common rooms, as a matter of fact. Not that it ever did much good. Although in place of 'weird and dramatic' was 'disgustingly ostentatious'. Us Slytherins love our big words and all.”

Malfoy had a dry sense of humour that Harry found he enjoyed – when that dry humour wasn't used to belittle other people, that was.

Thunder boomed, lightning lit up the sky and the rain fell so hard it was almost as if each drop was competing to see which one could break the windows first. Harry was beginning to love the storm. It made the scene between him and Malfoy rather … intimate. Special. He couldn't quite explain it.

Without pausing to think about his actions, he crossed the space between himself and Malfoy, yanked him forward by the front of his robes, and kissed him full on the mouth. Malfoy tensed up in shock for a moment, before he moaned and relaxed into the kiss, reaching up a hand to tangle his fingers in Harry's hair.

“That was … unexpected,” said Malfoy when they parted, touching his fingers to his slightly swollen lips. He blinked owlishly. “Nice, don't get me wrong, but unexpected.”

Harry nodded his head slowly. He didn't know where the impulse had come from to kiss Malfoy, but he couldn't say it was entirely unwelcome. He realised that he wanted to kiss Malfoy again and again, to feel the fullness of his lips, taste the sweetness of his tongue. However, instead of following through with his desires and kissing Malfoy one more time, Harry stepped back.

Malfoy frowned, canting his head in confusion. “Where are you going? Don't tell me you regret the kiss already.” He pouted.

“N-no, I don't – I don't regret it –”

Grinning, Malfoy stood up and grabbed Harry's shoulders, yanking him closer.

“Then don't run away,” he said. “I'm not done with you yet.”

And it would be another six hours before either of them realised that the storm had ended four hours previously, and another twelve hours before Harry could even work up the desire to part from Malfoy long enough to go to work – and when he did, Ron couldn't stop teasing him about all the hickeys that Malfoy (unbeknownst to Ron, who would've been horrified to learn who'd given them to him) had left behind, the little budding vampire that he was.


End file.
